She had only another eight or ten miles to go to reach her mother’s house in Chesterbrook, and thought she could cross that distance in just a few of hours, even staying off the freeway. This was a relief because, although she was fine, she knew the remaining stocked food would be gone for most people sometime tomorrow; she frequented “prepper” forums, where three days of food in grocery stores was the conventional wisdom.
Okay, Cassy told herself, it was time to get going and stop sitting around bitching. She couldn’t do anything about Jaz leaving with her pack. But if she ever saw that bitch, Jaz, she’d shoot her in the kneecap for what she’d done. It was less than Jaz deserved, but Cassy wasn’t sure she could kill someone unless she absolutely had to. Kneecaps would have to do.
An hour later she’d gone only two miles over the rough, uneven terrain off the freeway. She was close enough to King of Prussia to be concerned about people now, and a mile back she’d seen through a gap in the trees a sign on the freeway, which read, “Cooper Area Vocational College 1 Mi.” It must be just north of her, she guessed. But she was getting thirsty, and couldn’t keep walking the difficult terrain without something to drink, soon. Tomorrow she’d need to find food to have the energy to make good time, but she hoped to be with her kids and her mother by then. Finding water was more urgent.
- 11 -
0600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +2
BEFORE DAWN, SSGT Taggart stowed his gear and got ready to move out while he sucked down a canteen full of terrible MRE coffee. Soon enough, he knew, even bad coffee would be a blessing, so he took a minute to relish it. That done, he relieved the watch NCO. During the five-minute briefing he learned that one of the “rabble” civvies had infiltrated the camp looking for water, and an overeager soldier had used his knife on the intruder. As a result, the rest of the rabble was agitated and tense and had clustered just far enough away to avoid getting shot, but refused to disperse and go away. They wanted the soldier who had killed one of their own.
As the sun crested the horizon, both civilians and soldiers roused, and the mob outside the circle of Humvees grew louder, inching closer to the soldiers’ encampment. To Taggart they looked hungry and angry - a dangerous combination. He rushed to find the Lieutenant.
“Sir,” he reported with a salute. Lt. Dunham nodded at him, and Taggart continued, “The civilians out there are massing up. They’re hungry, Sir. One infiltrated the camp last night, got himself eliminated. We need to get moving, or we’re going to have to deal with them.”
Dunham frowned. “Yes, Taggart. I know. Look, we are obligated to protect these overprivileged pricks we’re babysitting, so until we hit the city we can’t just move out. They’re slow as a day-one recruit. I need twenty minutes to whip them into any shape to move out, and even then it’ll be slow going. We need to move at their speed, at least for a while.”
Taggart fought the urge to curse, or at least frown, and kept his bearing in front of the Lt. “Yes, sir. Orders?”
“It’s Martial Law, in case you hadn’t heard. Gathering like that is unlawful. Disobeying orders is a punishable offense. Use of live rounds may be necessary, and if so, my order is this: shoot every fucking one of them. Make ‘em afraid to follow us further.” He paused, evaluating Taggart for a second, then continued, “Don’t look so sour. I don’t like it either, and those poor bastards out there are my people - my family is poor and from this region. Hell, I might have had Christmas eggnog with some of these camp followers. But we have a mission, and you have your orders.”
Taggart was briefly surprised by the Lieutenant’s words, and his tone, but he had the discipline not to show it. The times would get a lot rougher before they got better, and he told himself he had better get used to doing things to survive that would have got him executed two days before.
Taggart grabbed the mic to a vehicle PA system and climbed onto its roof, stretching the mic cable fully to do so, and glared at the rabble-folk. Why hadn’t they stocked up at least a couple days of food, like everyone else kept telling them? Damn people had no common sense, always eating out and never cooking in. Well, they’d be the first to starve, he knew, and the thought made him feel depressed and then angry. But the anger ebbed, replaced by sadness, and he realized the anger had been a cover for even more unpleasant feelings. It was a soldier’s job to protect these people, not chase them off. But he didn’t have the supplies to care for them, and he and his soldiers were headed toward what was likely to resemble a combat zone in New York City. And there was the fact of Martial Law. The rules were different now, whether he liked it or not, and he was a soldier—orders would be followed, no matter how distasteful. It was his duty.
His conflict resolved, Taggart let out a slow sigh and steeled himself for what might come next. He put the mic up to his mouth and clicked it on. “This is the U.S. Army. Martial Law has been declared by the lawful authority of the Commander in Chief. You are unlawfully gathered. You are required to obey lawful orders of the commander of this unit. You are hereby instructed to disperse. You are commanded not to approach the members of this unit or any persons or property under its protection, or in its possession. Failure to comply will be deemed a threat to the operation of this military unit. Habeas Corpus has been suspended. You are advised that these instructions will be enforced by whatever means are required to gain compliance and ensure the continued operational capacity of this unit. And, folks, I don’t like this either, but if you don’t disperse or you attempt to follow us, I may have nightmares about using lethal force but your deaths will last longer. Please, disperse. Go home while you can. You have fifteen minutes to comply. That is all.”
Taggart threw the mic down and jumped off the roof of the Hummer. He spent a couple of minutes going from sentry to sentry, giving each the same order: “When I sound the horn, their fifteen minutes are up. If they haven’t dispersed, fire three rounds into the ground in front of them. If they approach, shoot them, not the ground. That’s an order.”
He then checked his rifle and his ammo load, and mentally prepared himself for what might come next. He stood motionless, then, just staring at his watch, an old windup model. The minutes ticked by, and Taggart steeled himself to accomplish the mission he was given—even if he hated it.
Ten minutes. Six. Four. But he never got to zero, never sounded the horn, because at just over three minutes left all hell broke loose when his men simultaneously opened fire. Part of him noted with satisfaction that they were using single-fire, one round at a time just as he’d trained them. Adrenaline pumped through him and he vaulted on top of the Humvee again to see what was going on, weapon ready, but he wasn’t prepared for what he saw despite steeling himself for it.
On the road, the rabble had locked arms four-abreast and had simply walked towards the unit. They must not have expected anyone to actually shoot at them, and the mistake was costing them lives. Crack. Crack. Crack. Bodies fell. In only a couple seconds at least a dozen of the thirty or so civilians had fallen, and the rest immediately turned to run screaming for their lives.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” came the cry from Lt. Dunham, who had come from behind to stand next to Taggart. The shooting petered out, but not before a couple more people had fallen, those who hadn’t fled quickly enough.
“God damn fools,” the Lt. muttered through clenched teeth. Rage and sorrow briefly chased each other over his features, Taggart saw, but then the Lieutenant regained control and forced his face into a stony mask. “Sentries stand ready! Soldiers, get our civvies up and moving. We move out in five, whether they’re ready or not.”
Taggart’s grief turned to anger as the vision of falling humans kept flashing through his mind. He stormed off to follow orders, to get the civilians ready. He was none too gentle about it.
- 12 -
0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +2
CASSY HADN’T BEEN walking long when she heard the faint murmur of running water. There was a stream ahead, and she had a moment of pure joy as her thirsty body urged her
to run headlong and drink deeply, but she forced herself to stop and think. The stream would be an open area, not in cover as she was now. Okay, so she’d have to stop at the tree line to get a good look around before emerging. Also, while she could drink her fill right away, it might not be clean water—a town was right next door, after all. And finally, she had no way of taking water with her. Not since that devious little bitch, Jaz, had taken her only supplies. Three problems, only one of which was easy to deal with.
Cassy sighed and moved cautiously toward the water. One thing at a time, she told herself. When she got to the edge of the timbered area, the sight that met her was welcome beyond belief—crystal clear water, and a lot of it, moving slowly through a creek. She had read that slow-moving water wasn’t as safe to drink as water from the rapids. That led her to the second issue, but the same book that had told her fast water was safer than slow, also told her how to filter it. That wouldn’t be too hard. She could use her shirt and her hoodie to filter the water by tying one above the other—fill one with small foliage and the other with sandy soil, and it would be filtered, albeit poorly since she had no charcoal for a third layer. It would have to do. She’d drink it and pray she didn’t get Giardia or some other parasite or disease from the water.
The third problem—figuring out how to carry some water with her—was the hardest. She would have used her canvas pants, tying the legs off into makeshift water bags, but she had not thought to wax them. She glumly chastised herself. Nor did she have the time and tools to make a wood or birch bark container for water. The only option that would let her keep moving without a long delay, she realized, was to find ready-made containers.
Cassy followed the stream south away from the town, keeping in cover and looking for any movement as she searched for anything she could use as a container. It didn’t take her long to find a few plastic water bottles along the edge of the stream, among other trash that included crumpled beer cans and a faded, waterlogged “gentlemen’s magazine”. But before leaving cover she sat down and simply waited, watching and listening. Going to get the bottles and the water would leave her exposed, and she didn’t relish the thought of another conflict, or of meeting anyone. Her trust meter was just about pegged to zero, at least for the moment, she thought wryly.
A high-pitched squeal full of pain and fear echoed through the trees, and Cassy whipped her head towards the noise automatically. “That sounded like a little kid. God dammit,” she muttered, and quickly—and quietly—made her way toward the disturbance.
The stream she followed meandered to the left ahead of her, and the trees blocked her view of anything beyond that point. As quickly as she felt was prudent, staying in cover, she rounded the bend so she could see more of the stream. And as the view opened up ahead of her she saw the source of the noise: a small child now floated face-down in the stream. Maybe a hundred yards upstream from the child, on the other side of the water was a group of maybe a half-dozen adults, who were frantically running to and fro searching, but they didn’t seem to see the kid in the water. Cassy decided they would never figure it out in time. If she didn’t do something quickly, that kid was probably going to die. A strangled “No...” escaped her lips and she burst out of the tree line, sprinting for the water, caution to the wind.
As she emerged, one of the adults saw her and pointed, letting out a cry of alarm. The group of surprised adults edged forward, unconsciously putting themselves between Cassy and their encampment, which had several other kids, Cassy noted distractedly as she ran.
She reached the stream, which had slowed again after speeding up at the bend, and she saw the child still remained motionless. Without hesitating she leapt into the air, getting across as much of the wide stream as she could before hitting water. She landed feet-first, rather than dove, and that turned out to be a wise choice; her feet hit the rocky bed of the stream and the water was only just above her elbows. Had she dove in, she might have been hurt. Regaining her footing, she pushed off and swam quickly towards the child. Cassy wrapped one arm around the kid’s neck and with her other hand flipped her over and side-stroked to the closest shore. She half-threw the girl onto the bank of the stream, and got out of the water with adrenaline-soaked speed.
Within seconds she began CPR. She didn’t have to stop to think about what she was doing—the process was muscle-memory now, after the long hours of paramedic training she’d gone through with no intention of being a paramedic. Her mother, Mandy, had said it was a waste of time and money if she wasn’t going to be a paramedic, but Cassy only replied that it was an investment in self-confidence. It was the easiest way to explain it to her doubting mother.
For this little girl though, Cassy thought as she quickly checked for a pulse, the training would be a neither a waste of time nor money.
The girl interrupted Cassy’s thoughts when she abruptly began to cough hard enough to make her whole body spasm. Cassy rolled her onto her side with a whoop of joy. “Air in, water out, kid. Cough hard!”
The girl was maybe seven years old with long brown hair matted around her face. She might have been pretty enough, normally, but right now she was slightly blue and coughing hard enough that she’d probably pull some muscles. Cassy patted her head and spoke calmly, reassuringly, and took off her hoodie to drape it over the girl’s shoulders.
That was when she looked up finally and noted the group of adults coming to a stop, having run from camp. A woman of perhaps thirty-five with brown hair and the same nose as the little girl swept the kid up in her arms, shrieking with joy and fright wrapped together. The child whimpered and buried her face into the woman’s neck, sobbing.
Seeing this, Cassie smiled without thinking, her face lighting up with joy and relief. She barely heard the woman saying “thank you” over and over. She glanced at the others then and saw three men and two more women. The women were smiling, but the men looked tense, cautious. Cassy became suddenly nervous. Her experiences with strangers hadn’t been wonderful, lately.
After a second, one of the men finally smiled too and stepped forward a couple paces, still staying a comfortable distance from Cassy, maybe four feet. “Thank you, miss. That’s Jed’s daughter there, and she’s like our own child to all of us here. I don’t want to think what would’a happened if you hadn’t come along.”
Cassy stood, hands carefully kept at her side, and then smiled again. “I’m Cassandra. I got kids, too—I didn’t even really think about it, just jumped in.” She shivered a little, still dripping wet.
“I’m Frank. The girl’s Kaitlyn, and her mom’s Amber. You look cold. We got a fire goin’, and seeing as how you just saved Amber’s girl I think we could spare a cup o’ Joe and a little food to warm you up, but that’s all we got.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling as well, but added, “That, and some guns, but we can’t share those of course. Figure we’ll be hunting our food soon enough.”
Although Cassy didn’t miss the implied warning when he mentioned their guns, all she felt was relieved. She was hungry and thirsty, and they seemed genuinely grateful. Then she thought about the times she’d been wrong, and resolved to keep alert. Just in case. “That’d be great, Frank. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, nor had water. I was thinking about how to filter and carry some from the stream when I heard Kaitlyn shriek, and went running.”
They walked back to the camp, just upstream, and Cassy saw they had two army surplus bivouac tents. They were huge things made of sturdy canvas, way too heavy to carry any distance. They had cast iron pots and pans, ice chests, racks of bottled water.
“You come prepared. That’s a lot of gear to haul out here without a car,” Cassy said. Her curiosity showed, and Frank chuckled.
“Yeah, I suppose it would be, but we drove it out here. Well, the cars died just outside of town on our way to a weekend campout, and we thought it prudent to stay out of town. Just in case, right?”
“Smart. Frank, if the lights don’t go back on tomorrow, that town won’t have one sto
re with food on the shelves. Hell, people are already getting unruly,” she added, and her face scrunched into a grimace as she suppressed a sudden flashback to her encounter with James.
“So why are you going to town? Family?” Frank asked, then sat on a log by a small fire.
“No, I’m going around it. I need to get to Chesterbrook, that’s where my mom and kids are. From there, I don’t know what we’ll do but we’ll be together,” she said, unwilling to mention her huge stockpile of food and gear outside of Lancaster.
A woman emerged from one of the huge tents. Cassy saw she had a pistol in a holster on her hip and a frown on her face as she looked at Cassy warily. “You brought her to our camp? Dammit Frank, my dad told me you were an idiot.”
Cassy saw Frank tense as he replied with an even voice, “Shut up, woman. She saved Kaity’s life, and we’re thanking her the best we can. It’s just some food and water, so calm down or go the hell away.”
“You best give her some of Amber’s food and water then, let her pay this woman back. It better not come out of the stockpile. We need to make that last, you idiot.”
Cassy didn’t like where this was going, and slowly slid her hand closer to the pistol hidden at her side. Things are different now, she reminded herself. “I sure don’t mean to take anything I didn’t earn or wasn’t given,” she said to the woman. “I’m Cassy, and I’ll be moving along in just a few, I promise.”
Dark New World (Book 1): Dark New World Page 5